


No Pain, No Gains

by StripySock



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Awkward First Times, Blow Jobs, Gym AU, Gyms, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Shower Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn, personal trainer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 07:37:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5039638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripySock/pseuds/StripySock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen runs the local gym, Jared's the bookshop owner who has never considered getting fit. They both get more than they'd bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Pain, No Gains

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to MissM for the beta, any mistakes that remain are my own, and thanks to quickreaver for the great prompt at spn_masquerade.

It's been a slow day. A slow enough day that Danneel at the front desk is gently snoozing on a pile of application forms, and even the most dedicated personal trainers have fled in favor of a bowl of nachos and several beers. "Superbowl," Jensen says to Danneel, and she shifts with a grunt. "It's always quiet during Superbowl."

The last thing anyone wants while watching other people endorse peak athleticism is to be getting a workout in themselves. Usually the evening is their peak time, after work commuters getting a quick session in before they head off, but tonight it's pretty much dead. Jensen didn't expect anything else, but he's got the TV on in his office and one appointment, and he doesn't yet know enough people in town to organize anything himself. He suspects he's fallen between several stools with the people he does know, since everyone had assumed he was already going somewhere else.

"Come on," he says and pokes her awake. "Off you go."

"No can do," she replies. "Not leaving you here in sole charge of the premises. Who knows what you might do? Forget to rerack the weights, sabotage the juice bar, shred the paper towels, the list is endless."

"Juice bar is a bit of a misnomer," Jensen says with a dry look. "It's a fridge full of water." The clientele they seem to have attracted isn't the type to drink the chia seed filled 800 calorie smoothies that the last place he worked in offered.

"Point stands. I bet you'll sabotage old Mrs Perlman's favorite machine."

"If by sabotage you mean reset the weights, then yes, I am going to sabotage her. Again, for the fifty-fifth day running. It's become a personal war." Jensen shakes his head. There's a neat ledger full of complaints from Mrs Perlman over the fact that the machine magically resets itself overnight from her preferred 10lb lift. "Regardless, off you go. I'm sure you've got somewhere better to be tonight than headbutting a desk. I'm going to close up early after this last appointment and I can easily handle the huge stream of customers likely to flood in before then."

She doesn't need telling three times. "If you're sure," she says, shrugging on her IronMan hoodie and casting an anxious eye over him. "If you're done early, why don't you come over and join us? It's just going to be me, Gen, Tom, a few of the guys."

"I'm good," he says without hesitation, and mentally kicks himself for it. "I've got to get a semi-decent workout in myself, you know."

She doesn't take offence, just smiles and picks up her bag. "See you tomorrow," she says. "Don't forget Chris will be on desk duty, and I'm trotting Mrs Singh through induction. It’s Boxers Box day as well.”

“I know,” he says, and he doesn’t mean to make it sound as doom-laden as it probably does. Boxers Box is a problem he’s going to leave until tomorrow, on the principle that thinking about a problem that can’t be fixed isn’t going to make it any smaller.

There’s exactly one person in the cardio area, a woman sweating it out on the elliptical, head down and focused on the ground rather than the TV overhead, and even she’s beginning to get puffed, legs going slower and slower even as he watches. He heads back out to the empty little reception area and prints her out the squat information she’d asked for last time they’d chatted, and then idles about waiting for his final appointment of the evening.

He doesn’t expect much. They ran an offer in a local paper recently offering free induction days to get a sample of what a gym and personal training could do for gym-shy people, and while the uptake has been decent, the follow-through has been disappointing. They started with a good base of people from the previous owners, but they need to expand, and business is dismayingly slow. There are a few enthusiasts, a few more weight loss seekers, and a scattering of people with no fixed idea of what they want, but not enough of any one type to give a direction.  

When Jared (Jensen noted the name down from the call) walks into the door, he doesn’t muster much hope in Jensen’s soul as to a new sign up either. But beggars can’t be choosers, and Jensen puts on as bright a smile as he can manage and comes over to shake hands. Jared’s 6’4 if he’s an inch, but he looks about six foot, the way he hunches over, and he’s almost painfully thin - Jensen can even feel it in his hands and has to moderate his grip so he doesn’t crush Jared’s fingers.

“Hey,” says Jared, and proffers the newspaper coupon. “I, uh, thought, uh, that it’d be a good time to, uh.” As well as being thin, he’s also almost painfully shy, it seems, a bright blush sweeping over his cheekbones, hair swinging forward as he ducks his head.

“Give fitness a try?” Jensen supplies, unable to take it a second longer.

Jared nods gratefully. “That. Exactly that. I tried running up the stairs last week, and I was puffing like crazy, so you know, a gym seemed like maybe a good idea, then a friend showed me your advert, and it kind of stemmed from there.” The rambling is kind of cute, Jensen catches himself thinking.

Jensen takes him into the office and perches on a chair as he wields a pen and a form. Now that he can see Jared’s face, he can see how good-looking he is, even if he isn’t really Jensen’s type, and he reminds himself to strictly keep to business. He fills in height - an accurately guessed 6’4 - and the almost painful weight of 150 lbs. He’s well versed at keeping expression off his face, though - a personal trainer who expresses dismay at their client is one who isn’t going to have clients for very long. It’s pretty standard practice to supplement BMI with body fat and waist measurement in his gym, so he checks with Jared first, then turns to the calipers and the tape measure. For someone so thin, Jared’s carrying a surprising amount of proportionate body fat, which Jensen makes a notation of on his paper before he fills out any allergies etc.

“And what are your goals?” he asks. One of his gym philosophies is trying to understand what everyone wants from their gym and attempting to give it to them.

“I’d like to go back to those stairs and kick their ass?” Jared offers with a little smile, that okay, Jared is not his type, and it’d be inappropriate as hell to hit on a potential client, but Jensen is forgetting both of those things right now.

He smiles in spite of himself. “I like it. Anything else? Some hills you’d like to pick a fight with?”

Jared shrugs. “I’m going to tell you the truth, man,” he says. “Now you may not believe it, but I’ve never been in a gym before,” and there’s a side smile there that Jensen wants to see again, a wry invitation for them both to laugh. “I own the bookstore down the road.”

“Oh, I know the one,” Jensen says, and he does, he walks past it most nights on the way home.

“I’ve never seen you,” Jared says as though somehow surprised by that, and Jensen doesn’t want to mention that mostly he reads e-books. “Anyway, I own the bookstore down the road, and I know nothing about any of this. I mean, hypothetically I know that cardio is a word, and weights are a thing, but mostly it seems to be people who want to lose weight, and that’s not my shade of problem. I have real problems keeping it on, the last thing I want to do is lose some more. So I don’t know anything about what can be done.”

“What changed?” Jensen asks. “Apart from the stair business.”

“I have this friend, Gen, and she told me that she thought it was a good idea.”

“Fitness instructor Gen?” Jensen inquires.

“That’s the one. She mentioned the coupon and said that full disclosure, she works here, but that just made her the right person to tell me if I really wanted to work on myself a bit.”

“Well, she’s right. We can definitely help, and I understand that you want to start from scratch. Tonight’s going to be the absolute basics, I’m going to test you and try pushing you a little to see what we’ve got to work with, and there’s zero obligation attendant on it. Now I’ll show you to the changing room, and you can meet me by the desk.”

He’s just in time to catch Lauren as she finally limps out of the changing rooms, and to press the squat sheets on her. She’s been wanting to make the jump to weights for some time, and this seems the best way to ease her in. When he’s done having a chat,and she’s headed on her way, Jared’s ready and shifting uneasily in an old t-shirt and sweatsuit bottoms, which only emphasize how tall and thin he is.

Jensen doesn’t usually do the inductions. He’s not only the owner, but also the head personal trainer, the only one with nutrition certification, and he also hangs out in the boxing gym that’s tagged partially on to the main gym. As a result the people he trains are usually the ones who want and need to be pushed. Getting someone else in on Superbowl night was always  a losing proposition, though, and he’s pretty sure he’s not actually going to kill Jared.

When Jared’s sweating, five minutes in on the treadmill, he re-evaluates a bit, but Jared’s grimly keeping going, trying his best not to look at the ticking dial and just focusing on thin air in front of him. When Jensen finally lets him hop off at the ten minute mark, he looks like he’s melting, and Jensen hands him some paper towel. “If you decide to come here on a regular basis, there won’t be too much of that,” he says, both because it’s true and because he does want to make a sale after all. “I’d strongly recommend a weight-based regime, supplemented with appropriate caloric intake, to build muscle on your frame. Circuit training, with mixed weights, and some basic cardio would also be an option. I’d also suggest considering a yoga class with our resident teacher Misha, to help improve posture and flexibility.”

Jared’s giving him the eyes of fear he usually gets from his male clients when they hear that. Most other places toss in a joke about it being a great place to meet girls, but Misha’s already given Jensen a stern lecture on that particular line, so Jensen just fills in with “I swear it’s worth it.” He’s taken Jared over to the weight machines now, less because they’re of much actual use and more to see the ballpark of Jared’s current lifting ability, and also because it’ll give Jared a chance to catch his breath after the treadmill. He’s pretty sure that Jared’s never coming back, but he’s determined to give it his best shot anyway, and Jared’s definitely giving it his - he’s pink in the face from the shoulder press, and his arms are trembling.

Generally Jensen likes giving a sample of everything in the gym, including the wonderful world of the jumping box, taking a lap of the circuit, investigating the free weights, and going a round with the punching bag, but Jared’s needs are specific. He wants to build muscle, and now that Jensen’s got some idea of his cardio fitness, he skips the rest for now and leads the way to the free weights. He does the same thing here that he does with every other client, shows Jared the three basic lifts - squat, bench and deadlift.

He gives the same spiel that he always does as he demonstrates, stresses the importance of excellent form - better to do one lift perfectly than ten poorly. He stresses even more the risk of injury if he doesn’t pay attention to his form, and reminds Jared that however douchey it might feel to be constantly looking in the mirror, there’s actually a reason for it. Having gone through the motions of the squat lift, keeping the plates to a minimum, he lets Jared have a go. “Always inside the squat rack,” he cautions, and keeps a sharp eye on his client. Jared squats down awkwardly and Jensen lifts the bar away, demonstrates keeping good posture, when to breathe in, and how low down to go, drilling it in until he’s sure Jared understands. It doesn’t take Jared long to pick up, though Jensen can definitely see how yoga might help - Jared’s the sort of tall dude who’s got used to ducking his head and pretending to be shorter than he is.

As Jared turns to try to bench press for the first time, Jensen can’t help noticing that his ass is pretty decent, purely as a matter of general observation. He tries not to imagine what it’ll be like post-squatting, but however much he attempts to tell himself that it’s inappropriate and unprofessional, he still can’t quite help thinking it. Jared’s all canvas - right now he’s cute and gangly and so thin Jensen’s pretty sure that he could fit his fingers around his forearm with ease, but all of the potential is there. He’s perfectly proportioned; if he ever does anything with his body he’s going to be astounding. Jensen’s absolutely sure of that - the past few years have given him an eye for natural possibility, and Jared fits every one of the requirements. There’s no way to say that to a first-timer, though, without sounding like an absolute asshole. Nobody wants to hear that in six months and a chicken-farm’s worth of protein time, they might be on their way to looking spectacular, since the implication is that right now they don’t. With an actual client he’d say it because he believes in the truth, but he doesn’t want to scare Jared away.

The bonus part of Jared knowing nothing about any of this is that Jensen can start off with the bar sans plates, and not have to explain why he’s doing it. It’s a good choice. Jared’s legs aren’t badly off, but his upper body strength is pitiful. Jensen pushes him, just a little, but keeps close and ready to spot him, eyes peeled and alert for any sign of trembling or incapacity.

The deadlift isn’t much - he’s not giving Jared any numbers right now, but Jared’s form is easy and instinctual, and Jensen only has to correct him once, doesn’t put his hands anywhere near him, just murmurs out instructions and Jared follows them flawlessly, straightens the bits that need straightening, and Jensen is absolutely right that if Jared takes this up, there’s going to be some serious results. He can see the long, tense lines of Jared’s back, the exertion in his frame, the will that’s driving him on, and the intentness of his face, like in this moment, this is all that matters. It doesn’t matter that he isn’t lifting much, he’s lifting as much as he can handle, and Jensen files that away under things he never knew were attractive.

They’re well overdue on their session now, but Jensen doesn’t mind and Jared isn’t uttering a peep, so he takes Jared on a quick tour of the rest of it - punch bag and all.

It’s not just Jared’s arms that are trembling by the end, but everything about him. Jensen doesn’t usually push so hard, but the truth is that he got caught up enough with talking to Jared in between activities that he barely noticed just how much ground they were covering, Jared’s nods and shy one-word answers hiding the fact of just how puffed he was. Not to mention that every time he checked in with Jared that he was doing fine, Jared just squeaked that he was doing great.

They’re walking - in Jared’s case wobbling - back out to the changing rooms, and Jensen’s trying to find a way to reassure Jared that not every personal session will be like this, and failing to find words. He lets Jared head in, and goes back to the desk himself to root for an information pack amongst the debris. By the time Jared’s back, Jensen’s almost ready to give the pat little speech of hoping that Jared will come back, when he realizes that Jared is actually barely walking.

Jensen gets him to a chair and wants to start apologizing, only he finds himself totally tongue-tied. He takes refuge in practicalities. “Do you live near the bookshop?” he asks Jared, and Jared, who appears to have lost most of his breath, nods. Jensen could kick himself. “I’m giving you a ride home, unless you brought a car,” he says.

Jared shakes his head. “There’s no need for that,” he wheezes and  _oh God_ , Jensen thinks,  _is he asthmatic? He didn’t mention it on the form_.

“There really is,” Jensen says. “Look, tonight is a slow night. Superbowl, you know. I’ll close up early, and drop you along the way. It’s really no problem.”

He can tell just how tired Jared is by how fast he relents. He doesn’t seem like the giving in sort of person, more the quietly stubborn, and Jensen’s guilt ticks up even higher. He grabs a few papers from his tiny office, makes sure all the lights are off and doors locked, and then drives the car right up to the door before helping Jared limp there slowly.

“This is so embarrassing,” Jared finally says as he clips on his seatbelt. “Seriously, dude.”

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” Jensen replies. “I should. I pushed you way too hard and too fast,” and he doesn’t add in all the reasons why he did - that he was too busy listening to Jared’s funny little comments, that maybe he wanted to prolong the session a little, maybe he just was pissy and a little bit lonely at being alone. It’s about a three minute drive to Jared’s place, which includes parking, and they sit in awkward silence for a moment.

“Thanks for the ride,” Jared says, as he got out. “And the personal training session, and I mean that, okay?” He’s still shy, but he’s looking straight at Jensen as he says it, radiating sincerity, and Jensen’s already beginning to regret that there’s no way in hell that Jared’s ever coming back inside a gym.

“Take a bath,” he says instead. “It’ll help with the muscle soreness,” and he bites his tongue on all the rest.

Jared hesitates for a moment, opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then shuts it, and limps up the tiny path. Jensen watches him until he’s inside - out of concern he tells himself - and then drives back home to an empty house and the replay of the game.

The next day, everyone is grumpy. Jensen’s grumpy because he’s still feeling like a dick after yesterday, nearly everyone else is grumpy because they drank too much, and Misha is, if not grumpy, then certainly throwing reproachful looks around over Jensen’s failure to get new yoga mats delivered faster. The only person on top of the world is Gen, who’s taking two classes that morning and didn’t drink the night before. She’s almost offensively cheerful in her neon pink tennis shoes and matching headband.

“Good look?” she asks.

“No,” Jensen says honestly, but she doesn’t take offence.

“It’s tradition! I feel like Jamie Lee Curtis.” Jensen has to crack a smile at that. She leans on the doorframe and peers in. “How did it go with Jared? I meant to ask you to go easy on him, he’s a sweetheart but he’s not exactly a big exerciser.”

Guilt twists in Jensen some more. “He was great,” he says, “I wasn’t.” He hesitates for a moment, then takes the plunge. “If you see him, then uh, can you say that..”

“Say it yourself,” Gen says, “he’s just coming in the door.”

Sure enough, Jared is right there, with the wad of paper Jensen gave him as an afterthought the night before, and an intensely shy look as he gives Gen a small wave. “I’m just here for a moment,” he says, and sits down with evident carefulness on the chair. “Should I feel so sore?”

“Yes,” Jensen says. “That’s DOMS for you - muscle soreness,” he adds belatedly. “It’ll get better if you work out the same muscles again today, believe it or not.”

“Luckily, that’s just what I intend to do,” Jared says with a grin. “I’d like to sign up for the yearly contract.” It’s the sensible choice - the year contract is much cheaper, but it also means he’s serious. He’s not a monther, trying out the ground. For whatever reason, last night hasn’t scared him off. Jensen’s conscious of a warm feeling in his gut that there really is no reason for. “And, uh, I’d like the basic personal training package, with you, if I can. The six weeks one with the nutrition plan.”

Jensen can barely keep the startled look off his face at that one. Maybe Jared was tough enough to come back after last night - but to want more of what Jensen dished out, well. Now that Jared is a client, it’d be inappropriate to stress last night - Jensen’s not such an idiot that he’d forget liability - but he still searches for a subtle way to say that he’ll take it easier.

Whatever  _is_  on of his face, though, Jared reads with ease. “I liked last night,” he says earnestly. “Well, that bit is a lie. I needed last night. I’ve been stuck in a rut, y’know. Last night showed me how far there is to go. I want to be pushed, Jensen, I mean it.” The last bit sounds a bit sexier than it really should, especially now that Jared isn’t looking shy, but closer to passionate. He’s still a little bit skeptical, he can admit to himself, but Jared’s beginning to win him over.

“Sounds good to me,” he says, instead of any “are you sure?” comments that come to mind. He scans the paperwork and makes a small change to the price. “Just applying the standard discount that comes from being recommended by a friend,” he explains and Jared smiles, dimples popping out. He hands over his card and stands up.

“I really have to run,” he says in apology. “I have to open the shop, I just wanted to come by first and get that sorted.” Jensen quickly scans the card, and tells Jared to come by later to pick up his membership card and to bring his kit. Jared vanishes out the door, still more dragging himself stiffly along than running, but at least he’s walking. Jensen will take it.  

“Standard discount, hm?” Gen says. He didn’t realize she was lurking nearby still, before the early morning aerobics class begin. “Funny, I don’t remember a standard discount. Can I get it for a non-hot friend as well?”

Jensen’s still not in a great mood and he almost snaps at her that Jared isn’t hot and that whatever she’s implying, he wouldn’t fuck a client anyway. He just about stops himself, but the irritation is still palpable. “It’s called encouragement, Gen. Now go torture some clients.”

“Yes sir,” and she mock salutes him. “And I’m not teasing you, Jensen. Not much, anyway. Jared’s a great guy and I’m really glad he’s signed up.” She’s up and into their main workout room before he can say another word, a tiny ball of energy, surrounded by the people who’ve managed to drag themselves out of bed to follow Gen’s workout but who look seriously displeased at the thought. The grumpiness is clearly catching this morning.

They’re busier than usual for most of the day - clearly people feel guilty over the sheer amount of chicken wings they consumed the night before, and a couple of the classes have near full attendance, the cardio room has a scattering of gym bunnies, working on their speed and catching up on whatever TV they’ve promised themselves. They’re a neighbourhood gym, really, especially during the day - after five, it’s the commuter crowd, but before then, there’s a real mixture. A mixture that might change if Boxing Box has its way, and Jensen almost bangs his head on the mirror as he realizes he hasn’t decided yet what he’s going to do. If only he knew more local people, people he could ask about this. But he’s too proud to ask Gen, Danneel’s a recent transplant to the city herself, and it’s depressing how few people he knows here, despite talking to practically hundreds a day.

There’s no-one he can ask straight  _which_  type of boxing club Boxers Box is. Jensen has nothing against boxing - he boxes himself, he incorporates boxing training routines into ordinary routines, he’s more than qualified to train people to lower levels. And knowing all that, he’s aware that most boxers clubs are great - some of them work with young people and help change their lives, others are integral parts of the local community - and that letting them hire out the boxing gym for meets, club meetings, and training in the morning and at nights would be amazing word of mouth for the gym, and a much needed income source.

Then there’s the others. The few where boxing really is a training ground for thugs, with no attention to form or precision, and, more often than not, disruptive to the gym atmosphere. If people start feeling unsafe because of people Jensen’s let hire part of his premises, that’s on him. And sometimes there’s just no way to tell except through word of mouth. He’s seen grandfatherly types who’ll let bare-knuckle fighting go down if the price is right, and guys who look the stereotype who’ll go out of their way to encourage female fighters. Google isn’t much help, and he’s going to have to rely mainly on instinct.

The meeting is at seven, and he’s kept on his feet until then - personal training sessions, gym business, narrowly escaping having to fill in for Gen’s zumba class when she’s late back from lunch, poring over the new advertising leaflets the printer has sent back, and thumping his face against the desk when he realizes that they’ve misspelled price as prick. He’s not 100% sure if it’s an accident on the part of the printers; some people have strong feelings on gyms.

At ten minutes to seven, Jared turns up.  Jensen snaps a picture, does him up a membership card, and with the five minutes left before the meeting, talks nutrition - hands Jared an eating plan that he won’t admit swallowed up pretty much all of his spare time during the day. Before he handed it to Jared, Jared was a little offhand - “No matter how much I eat,” he says, “I can’t put on weight. It’s my metabolism, I’m sure of it.”

“Unless you’re literally Superman, your metabolism is not stopping you from gaining weight,” Jensen says, at his driest. “You’re tall, you need calories, and I will take a bet that you’re not eating as much as you think you are. Have you ever tried putting on weight?”

“Yes!” Jared says. “I ate only donuts for a week, didn’t gain a pound.” Which isn’t the most wrongheaded answer Jensen’s ever heard from a client (that honor goes to a client who told him she couldn’t lose weight, which she knew, because she’d once tried eating only lettuce for a week, and that surprisingly it hadn’t been sustainable) but it’s pretty up there. He’s given up on being surprised over how many smart people there are who really believe physics doesn’t apply to them.

Jared’s face on his eating plan is a picture. “I can’t eat all this,” he says positively. Jensen doesn’t have time to argue the point, and he’s about to tell Jared to head on in and do a slow workout as their personal training session isn’t actually for another two days when Jared’s eyes widen.

“Hide me,” he says with a degree of urgency.

Jensen’s not quick to react, because that’s the stupidest damn thing he’s ever heard. Jared’s slinking into a corner as though the mop and bucket there are going to conceal him, and apparently he’s actually serious about this. The only person in the reception area is clearly Gerald Padalecki, the meet Jensen’s got set up to discuss Boxing Box with.

“Why?” he asks, not 100% sure that this is happening. He’s never ever had a client tell him to hide them, but Jared’s eyes are convincing enough that he’s already opening up the supply closet and letting Jared slip in. This really isn’t a good sign for Gerald Padalecki, if local nerdy bookshop owners are hiding in cupboards rather than taking the risk of bumping into him. Is he operating some sort of protection racket around here, threatening to break the spines of innocent books?

“He’s my dad,” Jared says before the door swings shut, and...that explains not a lot.

Jensen comes out to meet Gerald and get a firm grip on his hand - no danger of crushing the father, that is for sure. “Jensen Ackles,” he introduces himself, feeling the faintly disapproving look sweep up and down him. He gets that a lot in this business. “You’re here about Boxing Box?”

“I am,” Gerald says, and leads the way into the office, which Jensen happens to know his son is hiding in. This morning he’s clearly woken up in a farce. “I think I told you in the initial email that our old gym had to be closed down. Asbestos, if you can believe it,” and he gives a grunt as though it’s sheer nonsense. Jensen politely hmms along. “We’re looking for a new place, nothing fancy. We’ve got three trainers and myself, a strong core crew, we’re training for local fights, but we’ve got a couple of extremely promising young ones, and two regional champions. We can bring equipment if it’s needed, and we can thrash out hours and money if the initial outlook seems good.”

Jensen’s not as sure as he’d like to be. Gerald seems decent, a straightforward guy with a bit of attitude but willing to listen, holding nothing back. Probably if Jared hadn’t shot straight into that closet on the sight of him, Jensen would be forming a positive opinion, particularly after Gerald pushes a folder full of clippings over towards him, a yellowing survey of past achievements. After all, he’ll know exactly what Jensen’s thinking they might be, though there’s no real way for either of them to bring it up.

He leads him out to the room that’s currently got one ring, a few punching bags,  a matted area, and one basic rack of weights as well as extra standard dumbbells. “Access to the main gym’s weights and classes will be contingent on membership,” he tells Gerald, “but I’m more than happy to work out a reasonable per-visit cost at a sizable discount, and we can always offer a joint membership of boxing and gym.”

There’s some places where access to the main weight room goes as standard, but whether Gerald’s operating anything shady or not - Jensen’s leaning towards not - he’s definitely the rough and ready type. This will show if he means business.

But Gerald’s smiling in satisfaction. “That’s the way I like it,” he says,as he moves around, poking things and prying into dark corners. “Decent size, got doors to the outside.” He’s clearly moving through a checklist.

“And of course,” Jensen adds. “It’s still part of the gym. It’s the boxing part, and I’m anxious to have somewhere for genuine fighters to train, but there will be occasional classes for beginners in here at notified times, though I doubt there’ll be conflict in timing, and naturally I retain final discretion.”

He’s setting his cards out on the table. The gym is still Jensen’s. Gerald can advertise as he likes and bring in who he likes on his own terms, but the name stays the same. Gerald’s renting the location, not a new gym. He’s decided that’s his line - take it or leave it.

Gerald doesn’t say anything much for a moment. Then, “Agreed,” he says and sticks out a hand. “I’ll meet with my trainers and get back to you on the details.”

Before he leaves, Jensen introduces him to Misha, who as well as the yoga also runs their only MMA class, and leaves them chatting before he nips back to his office. He expects Jared to have sneaked out and vanished, but he’s still there, sitting on an upturned bucket, knees around his ears, simultaneously the most pitiful and hilarious thing Jensen’s ever seen. “Is he gone?” he asks in a stage whisper.

Jensen shakes his head. “Not yet,” he says, and Gerald sticks his head in the door, looking puzzled at the sight of Jensen talking to a cupboard, but too polite to say that he thinks Jensen’s mad. Jensen can feel his stupid skin heating up, but he carries it off, walks Gerald to the door while chatting shop, still wondering if there’s any easy way to bring Jared up.

When Jensen opens the door a second time, he has to give Jared a hand up. “Ironic, isn’t it?” Jared says with a laugh. “Been out of the closet for years, and my dad drives me back in.”

“Any reason?” Jensen asks, not entirely sure if Jared’s being literal. If Jared’s dad is a homophobe, working out with Jensen and at Jensen’s gym is not going to be an option for obvious reasons.

Jared waves that off. “Oh, he knows about that. He doesn’t have a problem with my sexuality. He has a problem with me being the least athletic person to ever grace the Padalecki name. He’s been bugging me for years to join a gym, get fit, get ripped.”

“Then why didn’t you let him see you?” Jensen says. “He’d be proud that you’re taking his advice, right?”

“He might think he’d won,” Jared says in all earnestness. “That I was doing it because he suggested it. The worst thing is, he wouldn’t gloat. He’d say things like ‘I’m proud of you, son, for taking your fitness into your hands’ and then he would never ever let me forget a workout. He’d probably come and supervise, and buy me tins of protein powder and forcibly inject me with steroids, and then start making noises about how even at my height I could fight heavyweight.”

“Well, you could technically,” Jensen injects. “Prime Foreman was 6’4.”

“And Al Cole and John Tate,” Jared finishes. “Trust me, I know. I don’t want to.” Although he’s joking, there’s still a tenseness about his shoulders that tells Jensen that this really is a sore spot with him, so he drops the boxing angle.

“Well I won’t tell your dad about your secret mission,” he says. “And in all seriousness, there’s going to be a timetable for their meets. If you really want to avoid him, it’ll be easy.”

Jared gives him a smile. “I would appreciate that,” he says. “Honestly.”

“Though if you can get the protein powder off him through false pretences, I would,” Jensen says. “That shit’s expensive, and you’re going to need it, unless you really really like chicken.”

Jared looks at the meal plan Jensen gave him as Jensen searches through a drawer. “I’m never going to be able to eat all this,” he says quietly enough that it doesn’t demand an answer.

“Do you read?” Jensen asks.

Jared laughs. “Bookstore owner here,” he says and ducks his head. “I probably read too much for my own good.”

“Well, this is your homework,” Jensen replies and tosses him his own copy of Strong Lifts. Jared doesn’t catch it - he really wasn’t joking about not being athletic.

“Is this like the arcane lore that you’re handing down to me?” Jared asks, holding the book like it’s a first edition Hemingway. He’s teasing Jensen slightly, Jensen can tell, but he plays along.

“It’s like gold dust. Keep it in a vault.” He shoos Jared out to the gym, and goes back to his desk. If the Boxing Box deal is going ahead, it’s going to mean a surge in income, a surge in members, and an uptick in paperwork.

He warns Jared off working out every day, tells him that rest days are important and that he’s not going to do himself good if he pushes too far, too fast, but somehow Jared seems to be around all the time. He’s there for their one-on-one session every week, but he’s also there three times a week for working out by himself, and he has a habit of popping by and claiming he’s left something, and stopping to chat to Jensen for a quick five minutes. Jensen grows used enough to it that he starts missing it when Jared skips a day, though he keeps it intently professional. He’s here to help Jared, to develop him, not to ogle his body. He’s strictly concerned with Jared’s deadlift form, and not at all with the curve of Jared’s ass, or the tight flex of his thigh, and he’s pretty certain that Jared looks at him only as a trainer, only as the devil that rams a pitchfork into his ass once a week, and drops comments about his lifts three times as often. There’s literally no moment of the day when he wants to brush Jared’s absurd hair back from his face for him, as he sweats his way through a squat set that would have been impossible just a month ago.

It doesn’t help that Gen tells him that Jared has a crush on him the size of Texas. He laughs her out of town, because Jared is smart, funny and rapidly becoming not just pretty, but scorchingly hot, but he’s never looked at Jensen twice. Not in the way that Gen means. Jared just smiles, and ducks his head, and follows every word Jensen says to the letter, keeps himself to the grind with hardly any urging at all, lugging around a protein shake that he swears by and offering to share half the time.

The first six weeks go by in no time at all, and Jared insists on renewing the contract, claims that the only way he’s motivated enough to get to the gym regularly is the paralysing fear of having to explain to Jensen why he hasn’t. Jensen can believe that, Gen uses him as the boogey man all the time. It does put paid, he thinks, to any hint that Jared might be interested in him. It’s never been explicitly stated, but the ethos of the gym regarding personal trainer/client relationships is pretty clear - when Danneel had wanted to date a client, he had had to sign off from her sessions first.

It’s just the way things are - Jensen prefers the clean simplicity of it, since he’s seen just how muddled personal relationships can get when working out and making out get mixed. If Jared wants to stick with him, it means that it’s not a crush - he’s really committed to this new lifestyle. There’s a thin thread of disappointment in there somewhere that Jensen feels is ridiculous. He tries telling himself that he doesn’t want to date Jared, but the protestation is beginning to ring a little hollow to his ears. He’s never been attracted solely to muscles, on men or women, but he’s always been attracted to the dedication it takes to build them.

Maybe if it was someone else, he’d cancel the sessions himself and suggest a date, but he feels like it’d throw a spoke in Jared’s progress, which is far and away almost the fastest transformation he’s ever seen. Jared’s probably never going to get truly bulky unless he works for it, and considers steroids (not a path he’ll take in Jensen’s gym) - he’s tall enough that it’s difficult to achieve, and even with a rigorous diet and close attention to macros he has difficulties in getting enough intake, but he’s building muscle as fast as he can, and he was thin enough to start with that the change is really noticeable even after only three months. Beginner’s gains it might be, but they’re impressive and even make Jensen a little jealous. He’s not going to throw Jared under the bus and make him find a new gym just because he’s starting to have mild daydreams about the sharp cut of Jared’s hips.

The first time he gets a glimpse of the idea that maybe Jared isn’t just a willing self-sacrifice to the gym gods is when Jensen has to head away for a week. He’s a little bit of a control freak - he’s ready and willing to admit that. He leaves detailed and extensive instructions on how to handle literally everything in the gym, and shuffles each of his personal clients who really can’t wait a week to a different trainer complete with their full set of notes. When he gets back, everything is fine and dandy, except Danneel tells him that Jared cancelled his appointment.

If there’s one thing Jensen can’t stand, it’s people who skip out on a regular appointment, and he’s kind of disappointed in Jared, who sure enough slopes in sheepishly that night and comes to the office to have a chat. For someone who is pretty damn shy, he never seems to have much of a problem with talking to Jensen, and they chew the fat a little bit, as Jensen scans the renewal times on the computer.

“Why didn’t you go to Danneel?” he asks abruptly, halfway through Jared’s meandering story about a cat climbing his bookshelves. He winces a little internally at his tone, he doesn’t want to sound like Jared’s dad. Gerald is a good guy, he runs a tight ship, and Jensen genuinely likes him, but he also gets how growing up with him as a dad must have pushed Jared into a tight teenage rebellion corner of feeling that he was never going to be good enough because he wasn’t an athlete.

Jared doesn’t bristle, though, he just leans forward a little bit, trademark move of ducking his head down so Jensen can’t see his eyes. “I don’t know,” he says. “She’s great and she does great, but I wanted it to be you. It’s stupid, but I don’t mind you bossing me around and telling me to do things, but I get enough of it elsewhere most of the time and I resent it.”

It’s probably the most honest thing Jared’s ever said, and most of the time he’s a pathologically honest dude, incapable of even telling small lies to ease interaction. Jensen ignores the little flicker of warmth in his belly at the thought that Jared doesn’t mind  _Jensen_  doing it. “You could just have said that,” he points out.

“Yeah, like it didn’t sound stupid enough in my head,” Jared says with a snort. “Just, take the compliment, okay. I missed you.” He’s up and out after that, like he’s said just a little too much, leaving Jensen to loll back in his chair and think about it. It’s kind of sad that it makes him happy, but Jared isn’t the only one in the gym with issues.

Jensen’s run this place for seven months now, and he still hasn’t furnished his apartment properly. The gym’s in perfect order, but he hasn’t even entirely unpacked his crockery, or put a single picture up. The only reason there’s a made up bed in the spare room is in case family comes by. He goes for occasional drinks, he does the odd 5K, he’s dated people on and off, and not one of them has made a single scratch in his life. If he sleeps over, he does it at someone else’s, because the thought of taking them back to an unmade bed, a fridge full of shakes, and an empty living room is just too embarrassing. He’s funnelled all of himself into making this, his big effort, a success, and it hasn’t left room for anything else. There’s not even a single book on his shelves, because he’s put them all on an e-reader, as though he has too much clutter in his life instead of too little.

Jared’s about the closest thing to a friend that he has. He’s friendly with his other clients, but it’s much more impersonal, and he knows Gen, Danneel, Misha, Chris and the rest would be friends if he’d let them, but that imperceptible gulf of ‘boss’ surrounds him, makes him stiff and awkward, and not much fun at all. In a new city, with nobody he knows from college, no family nearby, he’s ended up as alone as anyone can fairly be. He keeps up the pretence when he phones friends and family - he’s young, single, owns a gym, and he can fairly say he’s not hard on the eyes, really he should be living it up, if he could just get over the invisible hurdle of getting started. Easier to stay late every night and cram every minute full with making the business work.

Only when he wanders out of the office and spies on the yoga class for a second - Jared’s at the back, looking painfully contorted and practically broken in half - he kind of wants to deride himself for being such a fucking coward. Jared’s shaken up everything, worked like a dog to change something about himself that he didn’t like, spared no effort, even dared Misha’s yoga class, and Jensen can’t even unpack a few stupid boxes.

For once he’s clear of paperwork. Danneel’s kept the place running spotlessly in his absence, which actually makes his gloom a little worse - he’s not even essential here - and there’s no evening appointments, so he breaks with form - he usually works out in the early morning, or after the gym is closed - and goes to lift some weights.

It definitely helps. He can’t have an early-life crisis while he’s focusing on his form, and when he’s deep into the swing of it, he thinks of nothing at all, mind blissfully blank of everything except the burn of his muscles and the sweat on his neck. He gets a guy who’s sitting out a set to spot him for some of them, pushing himself about as hard as he can go without harm. He’s pretty sure he did the right thing by Jared getting him into this, but then he adds plates and wipes even that thought away, washed clean for a moment or two at least.

When he wipes down the bench and cedes it to the next dude, Jared’s there, in his ridiculous yoga-going gear - the same old sweatpants and t-shirt proclaiming him to be a devotee of Old Navy - handing him a bottle of water, like he’s Jensen’s personal trainer and not the other way round. “Feel better?” he asks, and Jensen doesn’t ask how Jared knew he was feeling bad, just glugs back the water and wipes the sweat off his face with his towel.

Jared’s trotting into the changing rooms in front of him, and Jensen’s overcome by a sudden reluctance to follow him. He doesn’t need to see Jared in the shower, not when he’s feeling like this, miserable and lonely and out of control, and maybe kind of prone to do something stupid. Doesn’t want to see Jared naked, even though that’s what most of him does want. He thinks of Jared’s stupid yoga face - jaw clenched like he’s scaling the last bit of Everest - and maybe does something that might be good for him instead. “Hey Jared,” he says, “I wondered if I could get a hand sometime? I’ve got a shit ton of boxes to unpack, and it always goes easier if you’ve got company. I can promise beer for sure and maybe pizza.”

There’s already a smile on Jared’s face, big and sweet. “Pizza?” he says. “I don’t think that fits my macros, Jensen. Make it chicken and you’ve got a deal.” There’s a little bit of gentle mockery, but it’s half for Jensen, half for himself. “How’s tonight for you?” It’s like he knows that given any delay, Jensen is going to dash back home, unpack by himself and cancel,  but Jensen finds that he doesn’t mind.

“Yeah,” he says, though admitting he’s doing nothing on a Saturday is sort of embarrassing. But then neither is Jared so maybe it isn’t too bad. “That’d be good. Meet you at closing time?” Jared nods and that’s settled. Sure, Jensen still has to fight the urge to dash back home and tidy up, but he’s pretty sure Jared isn’t going to give a shit, and Jensen always leaves the place clean, if not unpacked. He heads in, a decent interval after Jared, and showers briskly, dresses fast, and gets back to the desk so he can pretend to do some work, though it feels like his first free afternoon in ages. Hypothetically the conference he’d crossed the country for had been a holiday, but it hadn’t felt like it, just resulted in the itchy, useless, sad mood he found himself in on return, though that’s been dented a little bit by Jared’s cheerfulness.

Back at his place, he ends up hovering uselessly, trying to remember what box holds what. He’s at least sure there’s no porn - that’s gone digital, and he’s about 90% sure nothing is too embarrassing. Jared, on the other hand, is having the time of his life. Apparently there’s nothing more he’s ever wanted from life than to be allowed to dig through a box and find the cat cushions that Jensen’s aunt had given him as a housewarming present. He’s laughing at all the right things, though, not a word about how it’s kind of weird how Jensen’s pretty much managed to live with two plates and a fork before now, and it’s at that moment that Jensen can see how far physically Jared’s come. He’s used to seeing Jared with the impersonal eye of a trainer, one muscle group at a time, used to noting poor extension, good posture, all the bits that go to making up a body.

Now he’s seeing Jared lift three boxes with ease, when he couldn’t have lifted one without effort a few months ago, seeing the new build of muscle in Jared’s arms, the strong curve of his back as he bends to get another one, even the strength of his hands that speaks to perpetual use of the handgrips he’d bought. _Built_ , is the first word that comes to mind, even though Jared doesn’t quite fit it yet. Built, more in the sense that Jared has put effort in, has built himself again, formed himself, with maybe a bit of Jensen’s help, and it’s not the first time he’s felt a sensation of pride at what he’s been able to help a client do, but it is the first time he’s felt it this personally, as though he had some hand in it himself.

Jared’s different in all sorts of ways now, not just physical. When he first started coming to the gym, it was strictly business, eyes down, sidling in and out like he didn’t have a right to be there. Now he chats easily and casually with other people in the weights room, gives a hand here and there, jokes with Misha and the rest, and Gen can’t stop talking about what a different guy he is now, how he’s come out of his shell. He’s chatting and laughing with Jensen now as he screws a dismantled desk together with easy movements, face turning up to Jensen now and then with half a smile as he looked for the screws. “You’re so neat,” he comments, holding up a tiny bag with all the screws divided in them.

Jensen doesn’t say that that’s his dad’s handiwork, just takes the credit, and begins hauling things into place. There’s still...not a lot. But he could always pretend to be minimalist, maybe paint the walls white. Jared’s engaged in scattering the cat cushions on the sofa that is almost the only item of furniture in the front room for the reason that it hadn’t had to be unpacked, and Jensen makes a resolution that if he’s buying only one new thing it’s cushions, because the cat ones are terrifying, huge carnivorous mouths looming out of innocent embroidery.

“Heya,” Jared says then, and holds out a stack of photos. “Where do you want to put these?” He’s not flicking through them like a normal person would, a mercy Jensen’s unexpectedly grateful for when he realizes that they’re a bunch of college ones, half of them in black and white from at least one of his friends going through an artsy SLR phase. Nobody needs to see him in sleeveless shirts chugging the shit out of a beer. Of course, of course, there’s a picture of Matty on the top, arms around Jensen, lips half on his cheek, half on his mouth, and Jensen’s staring straight at the camera with a look of eyerolling disdain. “Jesus, I was a dick,” he says, and takes the photos, ready to put them in the drawer.

Jared’s still kind of quiet, and it suddenly clicks. Jared didn’t know that Jensen isn’t exactly straight. He hasn’t been closeted since he’d moved here, but he hasn’t shared much of himself (anything) with anyone either. He’s fine telling clients personal stories about his own fitness struggles - sometimes more personal things than he’d ever tell a friend - but he keeps his social life out of it, and the result, it seems, is that Jared didn’t know that. Suddenly everything about this seems much more awkward. Does Jared think that this is a weird date now? That Jensen was trying to get him alone?

“I didn’t know,” Jared said, and no shit. “That you used to spike your hair. It looked kind of dumb.” And the tension breaks like it was never there at all, Jared’s lips are curling upwards, and Jensen can feel a stupid surge of relief go through him.

“We all make mistakes,” Jensen says. “Six foot mistakes in some cases.”

“So he was short, huh?” Jared says, and okay, yeah six foot probably is short to Jared.

“Yeah, he was a tri guy, it would never have worked. Came from the wrong side of the gym,” and it’s all half joke, half truth. He’s glad that Jared didn’t look at the rest of the photos, at the endless parade of six foot mistakes and five foot five mistakes. He was a different person then.

“Come on,” he says and heads into the kitchen, hands Jared a beer. “Cheat day,” he says. “Or you can call it carb-loading if it’ll make you feel better.”

Jared grins. “You read my mind,” he says, takes a swig, and then matter-of-factly starts putting away Jensen’s cutlery. “I sincerely hope you didn’t take me seriously about the chicken either. I think I’ve eaten enough that PETA might make me a special target for a kitchen break. Just one night off, please.”

Jensen’s got that sorted, doesn’t admit that he had to use his cell to google local pizza places and trawl Yelp to find somewhere that might be half decent. It’s not like he’s had much call for pizza since he moved here. So he casually tosses out a name, and Jared volunteers to call, though half a second in, his mouth starts twitching with laughter.

“They went out of business,” he informs Jensen. “Two years ago.”

Jensen bangs his head on a cupboard and opens another beer. “I’m a personal trainer,” he defends himself. “If I want to eat myself to death I’m gonna do it on burgers.”

Jared holds his hands up. “No judgement here,” he says. “I like burgers as much as the next guy. Unless the next guy is you, apparently. Hang on, I’ve got this.” He calls up somewhere else, laughter still in his voice, and orders something he swears will be the best pizza Jensen’s ever tasted. While they wait, he helps Jensen ease the TV out of its protective box. “You seriously don’t watch it?” he asks, holds it without an effort as Jensen drags the small stand into place.

“Nope,” Jensen says. “I get my fill of it in the gym, if I want to watch anything particularly, there’s always my cell. It just seems like pointless noise in the background, and I don’t spend enough of my time here anyway to bother it.” He’s pretty sure that Jared’s figured that much out already. There’s a pre-erected set of shelves from the last apartment owner, where Jared’s placed the two solitary books that came out of Jensen’s boxes, and Jared is surveying them with a frown as he waits for Jensen to get the stand adjusted.

“Not a reader?” he asks.

“Audio books, sometimes,” Jensen says. “Good for the gym, I listen to music but not while I work out. Everything else, there’s a Kindle. Here.” He gestures for Jared to let him take the other end of the TV so they can settle it down, and he’s absolutely certain, as certain as he can be in that second, that Jared wants to make a move - there’s something in the way he looks at Jensen, the sweep of his lashes down, the hot gaze of his eyes, that says if they weren’t manhandling a delicate object, he’d drop it and go for the kiss. Jensen’s expecting it, enough that it’s a shock when they set it down, and Jared steps back and not forward. Which, if Jared’s not feeling it, Jensen’s not going to push it, even if there’s more disappointment in the feeling than he would care to admit.

The momentary tension is broken by Jared skidding on a piece of plastic wrapping and falling back onto the sofa, the surprised, winded look on his face cracking Jensen up, even as he moves forward to make sure that Jared’s okay. “Unpacking is fucking dangerous,” Jared says. “I swear I’ve almost died about five times tonight. That metal sculpture thing was probably going to give me tetanus.”

Jensen doesn’t have the heart to tell Jared that the metal sculpture thing was actually a candlestick set that his sister had given him for some obscure reason that she hadn’t actually explained, but he suspected translated as “they were on sale”. “Very dangerous,” he says. “You can put that on your resume: survived Jensen’s apartment.”

The rest of the evening is the first decent one that Jensen’s had in longer than he’d like to admit - Jared’s promises about the pizza quality are true, they manage with some effort and a lot of box shaking to get the TV working rather than acting as an expensive ornament, the beer smoothes the conversational way, given that this is the first time they’ve spent more than 15 minutes in each other’s company _without_  Jensen bullying Jared into pushing himself harder. It doesn’t, unfortunately, make Jared any less attractive; the new way he holds himself,  like his height is an asset not a flaw, or the developing strength of his forearms doesn’t mitigate the new assurance in the way he moves. But that’s a side effect he can live with, to see a stronger, more self confident, and, he thinks, happier Jared.

By the time, it’s time for Jared to head off, they’re both mildly buzzed, and it seems entirely natural for Jensen to walk Jared most of the way back to his place since it’s max about half a mile, entirely natural for them to wait on the doorstep chatting just long enough to make it weird. Entirely natural for Jared to hug Jensen goodbye, without a shred of self-consciousness, like they’re close enough for it to be normal. And as Jensen walks back home alone, he knows beyond a single shred of doubt that he’s screwed.

He doesn’t see Jared on Sunday, but it doesn’t surprise him. Compared to a lot of places, Jared opens for later on a Sunday - something about no other time of the week being convenient for some people - so if he works out on a Sunday, it’s generally during lunch break. He is kind of surprised to see Jared turn up after closing time, though - Jensen opens until 8 on a Sunday but it’s also the only day he’s strict about closing up on time. Jensen’s just finished his own after-hours workout, and is just about to head to the shower when he sees Jared at the door with an awkward box in his arms, hovering anxiously. He unlocks the door and waves Jared in, a little bit confused.

Jared dumps the box on the counter and smiles expectantly at Jensen, who takes the hint and looks inside. It’s books. About twenty of them as far as he can tell, and now he’s confused. “Fill up your shelves,” Jared tells him. “I’m not a luddite who thinks e-books are the devil, even if they  _are_  stealing my income, but you need some books and these are good ones. You have my word on that. They’re not color co-ordinated with your cat cushions though, so they’re not quite perfect.”

“You’re giving me your stock,” Jensen says, lifting them out carefully. He hasn’t heard of any of them.

“Some of my stock,” Jared corrects him. “Actually these are some multiple copies and most of them are second hand, so it’s really not that big a deal, you know.” Like doing a nice thing is something to downplay. “They’re a present. Call it a really really late housewarming present if you must, and maybe a thank you for all of this,” and he gestures a hand vaguely, maybe means the gym, maybe means himself. Whatever he means, he’s sincere.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jensen says, slipping back into the automatic response of vague niceties.

“Well, no,” Jared says, as if surprised at Jensen. “But I wanted to.”

Jensen’s pretty sure that neither of them’s surprised when Jensen pulls him in for a kiss then, screw personal rules about trainers and their clients. He sidesteps the box to pull Jared closer, and Jared's hesitant for a second, then kissing back, arms tightening around Jensen like he needs to hold on to him, mouth smiling still, and Jensen would stand here pretty much all night if he could. He can feel the tense muscles of Jared’s neck under his hand, the dig of Jared’s fingers into Jensen’s back, like he’s as disbelieving as Jensen at this happening at all.

Jensen’s sweaty and grubby from his workout, though, and if they’re taking this further, he wants to be clean, wants to be ready to meet Jared with all that he’s got. So he finally breaks free, takes in the stunned, tender look in Jared’s eyes and doesn’t feel the urge to back away from it,  though this is bigger than he’d anticipated it being. He feels like he’s spent a long time running, and maybe someone’s saying to him that it’s okay to stop.

“I need a shower,” he says, no preamble.

Jared laughs, a dry little scratch of a sound. “Is that an invitation?” What should sound smooth and sexy comes out questioning, a tentative feel, as though Jared’s still not sure that Jensen means this. He wonders if Jared’s been burnt like this before.

In fairness, Jensen doesn’t think he can call himself a coward. Not anymore. “Yeah,” he replies. “If you want to.”

He’s never watched a lover strip off with the same intentness that he watches Jared, like this is the first time he’s ever seen him. Jared hides still, biggest baggiest XL t-shirts that he can find, which now fit him in the shoulders but nowhere else, only wears shorts when Jensen threatens him with a kettlebell session if he doesn’t. He’s stayed away from the showers when Jared’s there, not from fear he can’t control himself, but from the lurking suspicion that he might give himself away, even if slowly he’s been beginning to think Jared might’ve been looking back.

Jared’s perfect. Not the sort of perfection that’s the end of a journey, but a developing one - broad swoop of shoulders leading to a ridiculously narrow waist, firm strength of his back as he turns away to kick off his shorts leading to the dip and roundness of his ass. He looks what he is, strong and healthy and beautiful, and Jensen’s mouth’s gone dry just looking at him, before he’s seen the half hard, heavy swell of Jared’s dick, solid and thick, making Jensen want to go to his knees without a moment’s more justification.

He’s almost forgotten that he needs to strip himself, tears off his top and unlaces his shoes, before shedding his shorts, and getting into the shower. He’s always sworn he’d kick the ass of anything he ever caught doing what he is about thirty seconds away from doing, but it’s his own gym, he can make the fucking rules - in more ways than one. Jared’s turned on the water for them already, hair slicked dark and wet back against his skull, eyes wary as though he’s expecting this to be the moment that Jensen backs out, and Jensen finally gets how hard it was for Jared to do what he did.

He’s pretty sure nothing he can say is going to make an impact, but he gives it his best go anyway. Kisses Jared as hard as he can, feels the brutal push of their mouths, the wet slide of slippery skin under his fingers. “I’ve wanted this from that first day,” he says, in between their mouths, can’t even be sure that Jared’s heard him over the wet patter of water.

He presses them closer under the spray, feels his fingers catch in the day-end tangles of Jared’s hair when he threads his fingers through it, sees the softening blush of Jared’s face at the pull, eyes open and honest even through the water as he clutches at Jensen.

Jensen wants to bite at the long line of Jared’s neck, along the tautness of his skin, mouth at the exposed strength of his shoulders, follow the water down his flat stomach, take the unknown paths, wants to mumble out the ways he finds Jared stunning, if he thought it wouldn’t curl Jared up inside himself, like the way compliments generally do. So he keeps it inside, doesn’t break the silence between them, shattered only by the wet slide of their skin. Lets Jared press him against the cool hardness of the wall, icy against his shower-warmed skin, and kiss him like that, reverent press of his mouth, as they grind almost unconsciously together, heavy thrust of Jared’s dick against Jensen’s hip, as he smoothes his fingers down the cut of Jensen’s abs, enough until it isn’t, fingers too close and teasing.

It doesn’t take much to turn them back under the spray mostly, until Jared’s against the wall, mouth open, unconscious to the water, as Jensen grips at the firmness of his thigh, hangs onto the smooth jut of his hips, and goes down like he’s wanted to, for longer than he can say. He’s not used to it, not like this, wet splash of water in his face, Jared’s hand in his hair like he can’t believe it, but he takes a deep breath and tries. It’s been months since he’s sucked dick, some anonymous hook-up that’d brought it home how little he cared about anything except getting off and getting out. Jared’s better. He’s thick and hard already, wet with the almost sweet taste of water, and he jerks forward at the touch of Jensen’s mouth, then back again. It’s the most awkward position Jensen knows of for giving head, hard on the knees, and he almost drowns in the water, before Jared bends forward enough that most of the water runs off, but he doesn’t want to stop. Jared’s warm and solid under his hands, his dick heavy on Jensen’s tongue, and Jensen can feel the minute tremors, the tiny shakes as he pulls back like he doesn’t want to choke Jensen only very slightly more than he does want to choke him.

It tugs at his jaw, pressing this far, this fast, but he doesn’t care, knows he’s earning the soreness, but he wants to give everything he can in this moment. Sucks the slow well of pre-come from the head of Jared’s dick, and goes back for more, takes as much as he can, nothing fast or desperate about any of it, just slow and hot and suction-tight, presses his fingers into Jared’s hips hard, feels more than hears the swallowed sounds Jared’s making, like he’s trying not to beg for more, harder. When Jensen gets his hand round enough to get a handful of Jared’s ass, Jared jerks forward, deeper into his mouth, groan of pleasure finally getting out, and Jensen uses every moment of it to advantage, manoeuvres Jared where he wants him, urges him forward in a jerky rhythm until Jared gets it, ass tensing in Jensen’s hand as he shifts enough that Jensen can fold his fingers around more, fingers pushing into the curve of Jared’s ass, not pushing or demanding, just present, and Jared’s grinding back into him, as though he wants the feel of Jensen’s fingers on his skin, before he thrusts back into Jensen’s mouth as though he belongs there, Jensen welcoming him in each time, closing his eyes so he can feel it all, in the blackness behind his eyelids, muffled sound of water around him, and nothing but Jared in front.

Jared’s still got his fingers in the short strands of Jensen’s hair, one hand brushing over the exposed skin of his face, pressing at the side of Jensen’s cheek with the lightest of touches, and it’s only minutes, feels like no time at all, before he’s coming, fingers desperately scrabbling at Jensen as though to warn him, which  _fuck no_. Jared moans, soft and broken, fingers spread against the wall now, like he’s trying to keep his balance, still pumping into Jensen’s mouth, and Jensen’s taking it and would if it was for no other reason than how hot Jared looks like this, wet, pink and breathing like he’s run a marathon, not got a blowjob.

He hauls himself upright, takes a moment to look at Jared spread out against the wall, dick still almost half hard, wet from the water and Jensen’s mouth, and the trace amounts of come that Jensen let escape, and he needs. Gets his hand around his dick, zero finesse or teasing, feels the wetness of his skin, and the slickness of the head of his dick, so hard just from watching and feeling Jared. It’s frightening to realize just how many things he wants from Jared, half of them in bed, and half of them, even more frighteningly, out of it. There’s too many but right now he can be content with the sight of Jared, bedraggled and open and fucked out just from a blowjob, bitten red of his mouth, hectic flush on his face, the way he’s lazily cupped a hand over his dick like he wants the last shreds of sensation to be wrung out of him. Jensen thinks how next time they do this, he’ll keep sucking even after Jared’s come, until he’s sure Jared can’t take it for a second more.

Then Jared’s moving, watching Jensen with greed like he wants everything Jensen wants as well, eyes moving from Jensen’s face to his cock, as though he can’t decide what to settle on. Jensen’s happy to put on a show, if it’s Jared who’s watching - if there wasn’t the slightest thread of an exhibitionist in him, he probably wouldn’t have picked this career path after all. He slows down, just a little, lets his fingers twist over the fat head of his dick, watches Jared’s face, the soft drop of his lip, nervous swipe of his tongue, like he wants as bad as Jensen had to be on his knees, sees Jared’s fingernails dig into his thigh as though he thinks he isn’t allowed to touch.

He remembers what Jared said about not minding Jensen telling him what to do, wonders how far that goes, if he’ll hold still, hold his wrists tight above his head while Jensen rides him, how pretty and easy he’ll take Jensen’s cock, thinks about that wide, gorgeous mouth choking on his dick, and he’s not taking it slow any longer, is suddenly, brutally desperate to come.

He can’t quite make it over the edge until Jared’s folding himself down like he can’t wait a moment longer, so close to Jensen’s dick, fingers curling over Jensen’s to steady him, as he fits the head of Jensen’s dick on the curve of his bottom lip, and just the sight, the pressure of Jared’s fingers is enough to make Jensen come, hard and desperate, hips rocking forward as though to force the last shudder out. Jared’s mouth is wet with it, face a little shocked, though like it’s natural and instinctive in him, he presses against Jensen’s dick again and licks the last drops of come away, presses his tongue against the slit then runs under until the head of Jensen’s dick is in his mouth again.

Jensen fully understands the urge to clutch the wall now, but takes the second best option and hauls Jared up instead, steadies himself against him for a moment, before Jared kisses him, not the hard, anxious press of earlier but a softer one that lingers long enough that Jensen’s intensely glad there’s endless hot water. They separate soon after, Jared ducking out of the water as though he needs some time to recompose himself, and Jensen washes himself unselfconsciously, knows that Jared’s still watching through the haze of water, but this time’s for actually getting clean. When he exits, dressed in a towel, though, Jared’s nowhere to be seen, and waiting for a few minutes doesn’t produce him either.

Jensen’s been fucked and run on before, and he’s done it himself, though he’s not proud of those occasions, but Jared is the last person he’d ever have thought would be that guy. There’s a hard, hot ball of disappointment in his chest that he doesn’t want to poke at too much, because if there’s one thing Jensen believes in, it’s choices, and that includes choices like walking away. He dresses quickly, doesn’t bother drying his hair, and when he walks around the bench, he notices Jared’s _shoes_  are still there. Which, either that blowjob was bad enough that Jared ran into the street sans shoes, or he is still somewhere in the gym complex.

He can’t believe that idea didn’t occur to him first, wonders if he’s so determined to imagine the worst that he’s given up believing in the best. Sure enough, when he gets close to the reception area, he can hear voices. Which isn’t great given that the gym’s supposed to be locked up, but it’s better than the alternative. When he rounds the corner, he can see Jared first, every bit of the tension dispelled by the shower back in his shoulders, which are hunched up around him. He’s zipped up in his hoodie as well, which somewhere along the line Jensen’s come to spot as a bad sign.

The other man is Gerald, and  _of course,_  it’s the late night Sunday boxing meet. Jensen is quietly, fervently glad that he and Jared finished up before the changing rooms were invaded by spillover. He walks forward anyway and stands next to Jared, offering a hand to Gerald who shakes briskly, so clearly whatever this argument is about, it’s not about Jensen corrupting his son in any way, shape or fashion. Jared’s looking mutinous, though, got the bullish face on that Jensen knows from that final set of reps where Jared just can’t push any further.

“I’m not joining, dad,” he says bluntly. “I don’t want to.”

Gerald clearly doesn’t want to argue in front of a stranger, and Jensen’s not leaving, so he at least half changes the topic of conversation. “What are you doing here anyway if you’re not here for the gym?”

“I know Jensen,” Jared says. “I was bringing him some books, not joining,” and he deliberately curls an arm round Jensen and pulls him in a bit.

There’s many ways for Jensen to spend his Sunday night, and he’d personally hoped it’d be in bed with Jared, not being used as an object lesson in some petty, on-going spat with his dad. He doesn’t buck Jared off, because he’s not going to show him up in front of his dad, but he keeps his distance as well, because meeting the parent of someone you’ve blown twenty minutes ago is as awkward as you’re going to get. All he has to hope is that Gerald doesn’t put two and two together with the shower, or tonight will have taken a steep turn downhill.

He gets why Jared doesn’t want to tell his dad that he’s going to the gym, gets why Jared’s still wearing too-big shirts and pretending that there’s nothing different about himself, but nothing about it gels with the painfully honest person Jared is on a day-to-day basis, the way he stripped off for Jensen. It’s like the progress they’ve made is receding backwards, that it’s all been kind of a waste if Jared values none of it as something to be proud of.

Rationally he knows that family makes you do stupid things, traps you in a resentful teenage condition of rebellion sometimes long past when it should be over. Jensen’s felt it, but maybe it’s the four years between them that makes it feel like he can’t quite understand Jared, even taking that into account. But there’s something uncomfortable about standing there, and Jensen wants to be gone.

Jared lets go of him. “I’m screwing this up,” he mumbles. “Dad, this is Jensen. He’s my personal trainer. And before you say anything, you were right about the gym, okay, and I started going because you thought it would help. But I’m not boxing. I don’t want to, I’ve never wanted to, and that’s not changing.”

Gerald rubs a hand across the back of his neck in a move uncomfortably reminiscent of Jared at his most embarrassed. “We can talk about this later,” he says. “I’ve got to head back,” he says, nods at Jensen, awkwardly touches Jared’s arm as though to reassure him, and leaves as quickly as he politely can. Jensen’s never going to be able to look him in the face again.

“The bit about him inspiring me to go to the gym is a lie, but a lie my mom will thank me for,” Jared breaks in on the silence with.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Jensen says, but Jared ignores it.

“And I’m not lifting for you either,” he says. “I mean, yeah, I admit that I stuck around for that first session because you were the hottest person I’d ever seen when you were smiling at a squat rack, and I came back at first because that helped convince me to make the effort. But it’s not the reason I’m still coming. You don’t need to apologize for finding me hotter now anyway, because if I’m honest that’s about 90% of the reason I started this in the first place.”

“What was the other 10%?” Jensen has to ask.

“I really wanted to kick the ass of those stairs. Which is one mission sorted, at least.”

“Come back with me,” Jensen says on impulse. Jared can’t hog all the truth in one evening.

“Yeah,” Jared says, steady and warm. “I’d like that.”

Turns out he likes it even more when Jensen’s got him inside the apartment, and they’re kissing again, fire banked from earlier, one orgasm down so the next can come slow. Almost everybody Jensen’s ever dated has been shorter than him, male and female both, so it’s a change of pace to be the one reaching up, but Jared eliminates that in seconds by getting them both to the couch, long stretch against each other. Two years ago, Jensen would have sneered at this, all this effort for a fuck, when he could get what he wanted in twenty minutes if he timed it right. Now it feels like he can't get enough of Jared's mouth, the press of his fingers in the cut of Jensen's hips, the way he chases the contact as though there's nothing he'd like more than to lazily rut against Jensen until he comes like that, in his shorts.

Jared's lips are soft and bruised, look like Jensen’s feel by the time they're done, mirror of all of the pent-up impatience of past months, and Jensen can't resist pressing his thumb into them, feeling Jared duck his head into his hand, open his mouth up and let Jensen in, a sudden body flashback of being in the shower and seeing Jared open his mouth in exactly the same way for Jensen's cock.

Jared knows exactly what he's doing, looking at Jensen with a laugh in his eyes, face flushed pink, gleam of white teeth around Jensen's thumb, just a little scrape against the skin, before he lets it slip out of his mouth, goes for the exposed skin of Jensen's neck instead, sharp flicker of those teeth against his skin, just enough to prickle and heat, no marks left behind, and Jensen can't believe he  _wants_  that, wants Jared to bite in and leave a trace of where he's been. Feels the smooth glide of Jared's mouth over his skin, swift nip to the collarbone, before he rucks up Jensen's t-shirt and gets to work on the skin there instead, hair falling over his face, one hand coming up to hold it back until Jensen does it for him, so he can see Jared rub his cheek against Jensen's stomach, and mouth along the line of his sweatpants, thumb slipping underneath the band.

There's a knock at the door, and Jensen would ignore it, only nobody ever knocks on his door so it's probably important. Jared seems to get that, at least he shifts enough that he's no longer pressed down on Jensen's legs, looks like he's laughing at just how pissed off Jensen is, flushed and disheveled against the backdrop of a cat cushion. "Screw it," Jensen says. "They want anything, they can come back." Reaches back down, until the knock sounds again, and hell, he's up, might as well answer it.

There's an edge in his voice, he knows, as he says hello, and the woman outside the door looks at him uncertainly. "I'm so sorry for interrupting, especially this late, I really am. I just wondered if you could help. I know you're new- " Jensen doesn't correct her with the knowledge that he's been here for months and nobody's ever knocked on his door before apart from the landlord. "But I really need a hand - I’ve managed to knock a desk over and it’s jammed a door. Which wouldn’t usually be a problem, only,” and she nods helplessly at her right arm, bound up in a sling. “I know it sounds so stupid, but if you could give me a hand, I’d appreciate it a lot.”

There's a WWJD bracelet on her unbroken wrist, and all Jensen can think for a second is why is she wearing a What Would Jared Do reminder. Unfortunately, he knows exactly what Jared would do, and it is with a sigh that he trudges on up behind her to unwedge a heavy desk, and get a literal cookie for his help (plus a second one for his 'friend'), before he goes back down to Jared. When he lets himself in, the living room is dark, but the door to the bedroom is lit up, and Jensen grins. Taking the initiative is clearly Jared's secret talent. He strips off his t-shirt as he goes, toes at his socks, but isn't prepared for the sight of Jared spread out on his bed, hot flush on his face, naked as the day he was born, slowly stroking his dick. Jensen has to pause, just long enough for the look on Jared's face to start making the slow shift to discomfort as though he thinks he’s miscalculated, before Jensen stumbles towards the bed, and almost falls down on top of Jared, face mashed into his hair, Jared laughing clear and loudly beneath him.

He saw Jared naked in the changing room, he's had Jared's dick in his mouth and his ass in his hands, just an hour or two ago, but this feels different. It's Jared, in his bed, in his room, and Jensen's cock is almost painful, he's not entirely sure he'll last long enough to do anything other than kiss Jared, and maybe rub against him, until they both come. Jared's fingers are as hard and eager as his own, in tugging off Jensen's sweatpants and boxers, until they're both naked against each other. When Jared's fingers reach out, Jensen catches at his wrist, watches in fascination the sudden deepening colour of Jared's face, lip disappearing as he sucks it in with a breath.

If this was a one night stand, Jensen would be asking questions.  _What do you want? How? Top or bottom?_   It's stupid to think that he should just know with Jared, but Jared does that to him. Luckily Jared appears to have picked up all the brain cells Jensen's dropped, because he's asking it instead, with his body if not his mouth, pulling his fingers out of Jensen's grasp, and heading straight for his first target, folding those long fingers that Jensen's never properly appreciated up until this moment around Jensen's dick and jerking him off, a double manoeuvre given that he's still lazily tugging at himself, and Jesus he must be ambidextrous.

"Fuck me?" Jared asks, straight into Jensen's ear, and he shivers at the feel of it, feels every nerve come alive, as Jared's fingers work on making him utterly incapable of speech, and most of Jensen wants Jared to stop or they're both going to be disappointed.

"Yeah," he says, "yeah," because at this moment Jared could probably ask him for anything and he'd say yes, and fucking Jared is the easiest sell anyone has ever made in the history of ever. Jared grins, kisses him again, and makes lube appear as though with magic, and Jensen looks at it. "You rifled my drawers, didn't you?" he accuses weakly.

"Of course," Jared says without shame. "Jonathan Franzen, Jensen? I'm disappointed. Tell it was jerk off material, not reading."

Jensen laughs at the absurdity, and shudders in the warm grip of Jared's fingers. "That's not any better. It was a present, okay."

He wriggles free of Jared's hand and sits back on his haunches, ready to get on with it. Another time he wants to take Jared apart, slowly and carefully, get to know every inch of the body that Jared's worked so hard to make, but there's no chance of that happening tonight for either of them. Jared has plans of his own,  though, grasps Jensen's with thighs that are more like steel than putty now, and flips them over, or at least tries to - Jensen goes half way over from sheer shock, but Jared forgot the upper part of his body, and it degenerates into a mess of arms and legs, and an unfortunate collision with the squeezy lube bottle. None of this is anywhere close to ruining the mood, until there's an ominous creak and the bottom right corner of the bed goes down, first with a creak and then a crash, and Jared's laughing as though he can't stop.

"Did we just break your bed?" he says, practically into Jensen's mouth, but Jared's very slowly sliding towards the broken slope of the bed himself, and Jensen can feel the tremble on the other side. "I mean, before we had sex, even."

"Yes," Jensen says, and the funny side of it hits him then, because they're mostly disentangled, which means there's nothing to arrest Jared sliding away with a shocked look on his face, and it's the most hideous mixture of aroused to the point of violence, and hilarity that he's ever felt. "This is your fault," Jensen says, as he rolls off his side and surveys the mess of his room, hand over his dick, as Jared picks himself up, more difficult than it looks as he's tangled himself in a blanket. "My bed has never collapsed before."

"You weren't using it right," Jared says. He looks as stupid as Jensen does, hair messed up and wild, dick still hard, sagging against the weight of gravity now, and perhaps stupid isn't exactly the word Jensen's looking for. It takes both of them to pull the remains of the frame away, until the mattress can sit on the floor, and Jared pushes Jensen back onto it, but more carefully as though they haven't already done the worst they can do between them. "Sit tight," he says, and Jensen's cock, which maybe had softened a little, has a sudden resurgence of interest. Jared's eyes are darkened, and he's not grinning any more, though there's still a hint of it at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe I should fuck you instead," he says softly, scanning Jensen's face, "seeing that the other way wasn't working out."

Jensen feels a flash of heat go through him, low sizzle of it in his spine. If he can only vaguely remember the last time he got a blowjob, he can name almost to the day the last time he got fucked. When it happens, he likes it from people big enough to pin him down, to shoulder aside the restless jerks of his hips, hold down his thighs until he stops moving. He's not sure Jared's strong enough to make it good for him, but the thought still makes him hot, because it's been more years than he'd care to remember since the last time someone tried. He moves his head, unsure for the first time since he kissed Jared today. He wants that from Jared, he does, but it's a fucking tangle of things he can't explain, not like this, spread out and bare already. What he wants right now is to fuck Jared, until Jared can't remember his own name, and then perhaps he'll promise to stay, so sometime Jensen can tell him.

Jared gets it, because Jared embarrassingly gets half the things Jensen doesn't say, and can make a good guess at the rest. "Another time," he says, like a promise, just between them. "I've been waiting for you to fuck me. It was pretty much all I thought about that first damn session, wanting you to look at me, to see me. I've had more dirty thoughts about that bench than I can actually count, and it's all your fault." He says it affectionately, and Jensen doesn't know why this is making him even harder, but it is. There's something about the thought of Jared watching him, imagining Jensen fucking him, wanting it that bad, that gets all the way into his gut.

It wouldn't mean the same thing if he said it back, even though every word of it's true, so he does what he's always done best, and uses his body to say it. Pulls Jared down on top of him, wants the heavy weight of Jared's cock in his mouth, to impale him with his fingers or push him down and rim the hell out of him, until Jared's shaking under his hands, his mouth, and eventually his cock. Takes what he can get, brief taste of Jared's dick, sucks him back to hardness in seconds, ragged pulse of Jared's breaths above him, until Jared shifts back and gets busy.

Jensen runs a hand down the visible muscle of Jared's thigh, watches him spread himself a little further apart, thick weight of his dick shiny from Jensen's mouth, as Jared fucks himself with his own fingers. Jensen can't see them, but he can imagine, the dip first of one and then two, pushing inside Jared, can trace the progression from the look on Jared's face, all shyness cast aside, all doubts about himself, about Jensen, lost in the moment, wrenching himself open for Jensen to see in. Jensen just watches, hardly breathing, slides his hands down the tenseness of Jared's stomach, the narrowness of his waist, follows the curve of his ass round, feels the minute shiver of Jared under his hand.

It takes seconds for Jared to fumble a condom on Jensen, fingers slippery and sure, seconds for him to brace himself against Jensen, and Jensen wants to know where Jared learnt all this, how Jared can be so sure here and so unsure outside, hopes he's got time to hear that story. Then none of it matters any longer, just the strong brace of Jared, breath held in, as he takes Jensen in, an inch at a time, so slow that Jensen has to fight the wretched impulse to pull him down faster, fist his hands into the disheveled bedsheets to stop himself from even trying. Jared's brow is contracted, wrinkled, and he's staring down as though he can't believe it either, slow incremental rocking as he shifts down until they meet.

Jared's started breathing by the end, slow inhaled gulps of air, and there's a fine tremor running through him, matched by Jensen, a sweat breaking out across his face and chest, glossy and shiny, until it feels like Jensen’s surrounded - by Jared’s body, hands, the sight and smell of him, and instead of making him feel stifled and trapped, it’s almost comforting.

Even more comforting is the grip of Jared around him, the sheer strength in Jared as he rides Jensen, cock heavy between them, and Jensen can’t keep his hands away, jerks Jared off as Jared braces himself and rocks on Jensen, slow and hot. There have been times, Jensen would have been embarrassed by how fast he comes, but he doesn’t imagine there’s a single person who could blame him, at the sight of Jared watching his face, grinding on down and inching up, until Jensen has no choice but to let go and just come helplessly apart.

Jared’s batted Jensen’s hand away and is jerking himself off now, fast and precise, thighs clenching around Jensen, ass still rocking against his dick, until he comes with one hand shoved in his mouth to stifle any noise, biting down so hard that Jensen can see the marks, eyes wide and fixed as he rides his way through it, and then falls down so heavy and hard that Jensen thinks he might suffocate, like a too thick electric blanket, and Jensen almost sinks his teeth into Jared’s shoulder to hide his own moan as he slips out of Jared, condom already wilting. That seems to be Jared’s cue to roll off, though.

The ceiling seems further away than usual as Jensen stares up, rolling the condom off, until he remembers that they’re on the floor more or less. A tissue or two later, and they’re lying side by side, Jared’s breath still irregular between them. “Need to work on cardio,” Jared says into the air.

“Squats have paid off, though,” Jensen says on the automatic, and Jared thumps him on the chest with an outflung fist, which Jensen considers harsh, since it’s the truth after all. He doesn’t exactly mean to fall asleep like that, between one breath and the next, but apparently he does, because the next thing he knows, he’s waking up to a dark room (Jared had clearly remained conscious enough to turn off the lights) and the steady breathing of someone beside him, something rare enough to jolt him out of the haze of half-sleep. He can just about see the tilt of Jared’s jaw in the light from outside, the shaded hollow of his cheek, and it almost terrifies him. He hadn’t bargained for this bit.

He gets out of bed quietly and pads on through to the kitchen to get some water. His right side where he’s been mostly pushed up against Jared is now uncomfortably cool. On the side in the kitchen, as he runs himself a glass and drains it, he sees the box of books, sitting there innocuously in the dark. Suddenly the miniature freakout he was just getting ready for seems stupid and beside the point. Flopping back down next to Jared, and feeling Jared kick out in a futile attempt to grab more space seems a much better idea, and for once he follows that instinct.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/Crit/kudos are always appreciated hugely!


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